


The Four Corners of the Earth

by bluetears07



Category: Blinkende lygter | Flickering Lights (2000), Casino Royale (2006), Charlie Countryman (2013), Pusher (Refn Movies), Tempo (2003)
Genre: #EatTheRare, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Cuckolding, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Kept Boy Jack, Luxury Yachts in the Aegean, M/M, Multi, Multiple Partners, No Group Sex, Organized Crime, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Skinny Dipping, Somnophilia, Unconventional Relationship, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-12 06:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7924480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetears07/pseuds/bluetears07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nigel, with his two jittery, Danish bodyguards in tow, comes to collect his quarterly bonus from Le Chiffre. The Albanian is more than accommodating, as is his American paramour, who always puts on a good show for their handsome guests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Le Chiffre

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot even begin to explain how this struck me but please enjoy the absolutely filthiest thing I've ever written. I've a whole head canon for how Jack and Le Chiffre meet and became a couple but that's a story for a different time...
> 
> Gifset: [here](http://mischievousmuse.tumblr.com/post/150556953592/the-four-corners-of-the-earth-nigel-with-his-two).

Warm, golden rays of Aegean sunlight stream through the tinted windows paneling the master suite of Le Chiffre’s yacht. Spilling across the lush carpeting as the early morning fades, they crawl ever closer to the large mattress at the heart of the luxurious room. The soft, incessant, whimpering moans filling the cabin reach a fevered pitch. High and reedy, it breaks over the lilting syllable of a name known only to a handful, one rarely spoken aloud. The sound finds an echo in the a deep, rolling groan, the wet glide of slick skin accompanied by a playful slap of an open palm.

Sated from the deliciously lazy and horribly indulgent mid-morning sex, Jack slumps against Le Chiffre’s chest. He sighs as the little reverberations of pleasure tumble through his nervous system. Le Chiffre murmurs praise in a riot of languages, only half of which Jack understands, as he gives the boy’s ass a couple gentling pats before delicately cupping the downy, plushness of it. Each smack spiking the faint tremors still wracking his oversensitive body.

“We’ll be stopping to picking Nigel up for lunch in a few hours,” Le Chiffre informs him. With his other hand, he runs the tips of his fingers down the expanse of Jack’s sweaty back. Skimming along the ridges of his spine, they delve between the slick cleft of his ass where the two remain connected. Thumbing the cheeks apart, he fondles the taut flesh still clamped around his softening cock.

“Mmmmh,” Jack gives a noncommittal moan, nuzzling into the lush dusting of hair spanning Le Chiffre’s broad chest. He drags his blunt nails through the short hairs, savoring each sweep of his hand along the man’s sternum. With a slight tilt of his pelvis, Jack presses back into the light touch tenderly massaging his shiny, pink rim. It grows more insistent, the pressure mounting, almost as if Le Chiffre desires to spread him even wider—“Oh.” Jack lifts his head abruptly, the post-coital haze dissipating.

“Yes,” Le Chiffre answers simply. He studies the guarded look overtaking Jack’s usually animated face. “I can refuse,” he offers blithely, indulging in their favorite game of negotiation.

Ever the master tactician, he removes his cock, aware of how keenly Jack will feel the sudden loss. The calculated look on Jack’s face, the swollen pink bow of his lips falling open in silent protest, baleful blue eyes and draw brow, has him immediately pushing two long, elegant fingers inside the precocious boy. He takes the time to delight in the lewd squelching sound of lube and come coating his fingers while languidly scissoring and flexing inside him. Momentarily victorious, Jack’s eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed by the bombardment of delicious sensations.

“If you wish,” Le Chiffre whispers against his flushed cheek. He adds a third, quickly followed by the tip of a fourth. With a surprised yelp at the intrusion, Jack bites his lip, playing the coquette for his lover’s delight. His spent cock gives a valiant twitch.

“I thought you liked watching,” he taunts with a slow roll of his hips. The wicked little curl of his lips has Le Chiffre thrusting deeper. Loose limbed and unashamed, Jack easily adjusts to the new fullness.

Pulls away to sit back on his folded legs, Jack stretches the aching muscles in his back. Arching and twisting his arms above his head, he relishes the way Le Chiffre watches the display of muscles flowing under tan skin. His free hand ghosts over the smooth curve of Jack’s lower belly, pressing tight against the crest of it to imagine he can feel himself through the thin layers of tissue. A few pops along Jack’s spine draw out a sigh of relief before idly turning his focus back on the man beneath him.

Ticking over the faint notches of Le Chiffre’s ribs, he braces himself with both hands, fingers splayed wide with delicate pressure. Thighs trembling from his earlier exertions, he bounces once, twice. Holding his gaze, a blissful smile tugs at the corners of Jack’s mouth as he splits himself on the thick fingers curling inside him.

“I do, Jack,” Le Chiffre purrs his name, caressing the consonants with the softness of his accent. He shifts further up the pile of pillows laid out against the headboard to retrieving a hefty stainless steel plug from the nearby nightstand. “Very much.” He brings the toy to Jack’s lips, rubbing the cool, bulbous end of it along the seam of his panting mouth. Le Chiffre hums in approval when Jack gives it a few coy, kitten-licks between shallow breaths. The swipes become broader, lips wrapping around the tip as Le Chiffre slides it into his open mouth. Jack’s cheeks hollow as he sucks on it. Leaning in close, he pulls the plug free to reward him with a sloppy, wet kiss full of too much tongue and spit and sweet anticipatory whines.

“Then it is just as much a treat for you,” Jack mumbles against his lips, pulling away to dragging his hands through the cooling come spattering across Le Chiffre’s stomach, rubbing it into his pale skin. “And,” his voice drops when Le Chiffre presses a thumb into the dimples at the base of his spine, tilting his pelvis to present his slippery hole at the silent prompting. Easing the plug in, he seals his come inside. He hums his pleasure, the fullness and the cool weight evoking a uniquely contented smile. “I would never deny you such a rare indulgence,” he whispers, hot breath and kiss-swollen lips grazing Le Chiffre’s with each syllable. Le Chiffre tips his head back for another kiss that never comes. “Now,” Jack begins, all business as he hastily disentangles himself from Le Chiffre to slip into one of the man’s button downs, “you stay right there while I go cook us some breakfast.”

Without protest at Jack’s antics, Le Chiffre watches him fondly.The shirt, two sizes too large, just brushes the tops of Jack’s lovely thighs. A private little smile, the one reserved only for moments like this between the couple, plays about his mouth. 

A answering smile breaks out over Jack’s face as he gazes at the other man, so relaxed, bronzed by the Greek sun and surrounded by a sea of cream, seamless silk. Casual and confident in his nakedness, regardless of the scars and drying come.

A siren of sin.

One Jack could never resist.

Struck by the sudden impulse, he closes the short distance between them, reaching out to card a hand through the thick, dark hair. The strands so soft this earlier in the morning, falling across his forehead in a lovely, rakish sweep. Settling onto the edge of the bed at Le Chiffre’s hip he gives him the kiss he earlier denied the man. Sweet and slow, lips parting readily for Le Chiffre’s clever tongue. Jack feels his pulse quicken, responding like clockwork to the teasing push-pull of Le Chiffre’s kisses. The hand gingerly encircling his throat breaks the spell.

“Breakfast,” scolds him, or perhaps even himself, pressing a kiss to his left eye before leaving in a flutter of black fabric against rosy skin.

                       

 

 

Hours later, Jack saunters out of the cabin in nothing but a pair of tight white swim briefs and dark designer sunglasses. Long, thick muscles on display, complimented by the obscene lack of visible tan lines. He rolls his hips as he walks, joints lax to emphasize the slight twist in his gate as well as the shifting bulge between his legs.

Without so much as a glance in their direction, he brushes past Nigel’s pair of twitchy lackeys. The two men diligently observe by his every move. The one with the shaved head sniffs loudly, rubbing his nose with the back of a tattooed hand. He leans over to whisper something in Danish to the other with a lewd snicker. A faint smack rings out behind Jack as the more stoic of the two cuffs him on the back of the head with a hissing command.

Seated on the mezzanine deck, Le Chiffre, dressed in a crisp white linen suit, looking like the picture of European class, impeccably sharp even in his summer suit, sits opposite Nigel. The usually colorful Romanian seems deceptively demure in his own pristine shirtsleeves and slacks. Though, Jack catches sight of an ostentatious floral print suit coat draped over one of the sunbathing chairs and knows instantly to whom it belongs. A smile crosses his face; the man’s relentless, and wholly unnecessary, peacocking a strangely endearing quality. Always a surprise what outrageous trends Nigel will deem a suitable addition to his wardrobe.

Jack comes to stand at Le Chiffre’s side, lifting his sunglasses to gaze down at the man with a dazzling smile full to the brim with adoration. He runs a finger along the collar of his button down. The stunning vision they must strike, adorned in matching summer white and glowing tans, draws his lips into a broader, more genuine grin.

“Lunch will be served in a half hour.” Le Chiffre readjusts the tortoise shell Ray Bans sliding down the sweaty bridge of his nose. He runs a hand along the sharp crease of his trousers. “Why don’t you go for a nice refreshing swim?” He suggests, reaching up to stroke the back of his hand over the flat of Jack’s stomach. The pad of his thumb dips into the depression of his bellybutton, following the sparse trail of hair down, down, down before falling back to fold primly in his own lap.

“Leave the men to their business,” Nigel contributes with a haughty snicker and a flick of ash off the end of his cigarette.

“Of course,” Jack smirks, catching Le Chiffre’s eye with a wink before turning toward the stairway leading to the lower deck.


	2. Nigel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Gifset for this chapter: [here](http://mischievousmuse.tumblr.com/post/151998572352/the-four-corners-of-the-earth-nigel-with-his-two).
> 
> Translations in hover text.

On his fifth lap around the yacht, Jack spots one of Nigel’s men anxiously pacing the lower deck of the stern. With the dying embers of a cigarette clamped between his lips, the man motions for him to return. Willful as ever, Jack takes his time complying with the request, breast stroking toward the boat with languid sweeps of his arms through the warm salt water. As he approaches, the man stops abruptly at the top of the short ladder hanging off the deck. Taking one last drag off the nub, he flicks it overboard, and offers Jack a hand.

“Arne,” Jack acknowledges him with an unnatural demureness, eyes lowered as the other brazenly soothes a thumb over the ridge of his knuckles. The bashful expression turns surprisingly genuine under the weight of Arne's tender regard. Glancing up through the last plume of smoke streaming from Arne’s nose, Jack notices the rare flicker of a smile dissipating as he pulls away from the jittery man.

A light wind clears the lingering haze, ruffling the lank locks of hair framing Arne’s once again solemn face. Jack smooths a hand over his own tangle of wet curls to clear the mess from his face. Brushing past Arne, he leaves a faint handprint on the front of his white tank top, a few drops of seawater clinging to the hair peeking above the neckline.

With quiet reserve, Arne escorts Jack back up to the sun deck where both Le Chiffre and Nigel sit politely waiting for him to rejoin them before tucking into their late lunch. Three large glasses of white wine accompany their elegantly plated meal. Sipping from one of the glasses, Le Chiffre lithely uncrosses his long legs as he watches Jack approach the table. Amidst rolling up his shirtsleeves, Nigel takes notice of the change in body language, glancing over his shoulder to enjoy the spectacle. 

Tight, soaking wet white fabric, now nearly translucent, clings to every hard line of Jack’s body as he strolls up the length of the deck. Each step pulls and shifts the material into different scandalous configurations, each one highlighting a different swell and ridge with hints of pink flesh hidden under the thinnest layer. The dark thatch of hair a tantalizing shadow beneath the suit in the glinting sunlight. Beads of water drip off the ends of his damp curls, snaking down the long column of his throat, collecting in the hollows of his collarbones before spilling over and down his chest. They glitter in the bright sunlight as they glide over supple, tanned skin.

“The water?” Le Chiffre welcomes the glistening young man, a strategically placed hand alighting on the small of his back to avoid wetting his immaculate cuff. He absentmindedly traces the depressions there with the tips of his fingers, relishing the slippery skin and warmth radiating from his companion as he peers up at him expectantly.

“Perfect,” he smiles blithely, playing up the ‘carefree kept boy’ routine for Nigel’s benefit. Jack knows exactly how it titillates the older man, and in turn Le Chiffre. Bending down for a brief peck, he feels Le Chiffre’s hand slip lower to cup the lush curve of his pert ass through his swimsuit. The kiss lingers as a thumb drags over the slick fabric, skimming along the cleft to fondle the ring of the plug nestled between the two thick muscles; a none-too-subtle reminder. Jack hums against Le Chiffre’s lips with a heavy-eyed grin, giving an involuntary shudder as he presses back into the intimate touch.

As he pulls away, Jack detours to snatch up one of the fluffy white towels folded on a nearby deck chair. He scrubs it over his arms and legs before draping it around his neck. Circling around behind Le Chiffre, drawing a hand along the sharp line of his shoulders, he moves to the vacant seat between him and an extremely distracted Nigel. 

"I'm starving,” he surveys the feast of various local delicacies, pleased to find a succulent fruit salad placed before his empty seat rather than the rich, oily fish dish awaiting the other two men. “Looks delicious!”

Thumbs tucked under the waistband, he strips off his bathing suit in one fluid move before relaxing into his seat. The glint of a looped handle nestled between the cheeks of his ass catching everyone’s attention. He tosses the wet clothing onto the sunbathing chair, narrowly missing Nigel’s discarded suit coat.

"El nu acționează ca un american,” Nigel comments, eyes boldly roving over the entirety of Jack’s glistening, naked physique. Wholly unconcerned with the beginnings of an erection thickening his cock while on full display, Jack merely continues toweling off. Curls ruffled and tousled about as they dry in the light breeze, he drops the damp terrycloth into his lap before lounging in the shade of the yacht's superstructure. With the sun past its zenith, Le Chiffre removes his sunglasses, diligently folding and tucking them away. 

“My Jack has nothing to be ashamed of,” he responds in pointed English, dead eyed and unflinching.

The young man laughs brightly, drawing a leg up to his chest. He pops a wedge of chilled watermelon into his mouth, licking the excess juice from his fingers while tossing Le Chiffre an adoring look.

“Yes, I’d say quite the opposite, in fact,” Nigel agrees, surveying the tanned expanse of his body one last time. He gulps down an uncouth amount of wine; the base clinking as he carelessly sets it back on the polished tabletop. He cuts into his fish, portioning out a large bite and scooping it up without any of the grace his counterpart possesses.

“Charmer,” he murmurs, leaning forward to retrieve his own glass of wine as he nonchalantly touches Nigel’s bare forearm. The light touch, paired with the flirtatious aside, evoke a positively wolfish grin from Nigel. “Oh, please, gentlemen, don’t mind me,” Jack insists from behind the rim of his drink, his tone dripping with sass. 

The two men carry on discussing business in a mix of Albanian and Romanian, every once in a while defaulting to English. Jack only has a vague idea of the topics being tackled, as Nigel is Le Chiffre’s main contact in the eastern portion of Europe. The rise and fall of their voices, the clink of silverware on porcelain, lulls a sun-drunk Jack into a pleasant lethargy.

Extending his leg with a stretch, Jack props up a foot on Le Chiffre’s lap. The other casually moves to stroke his ankle without disrupting his discussion with Nigel. Content, the young man lightly dozes between bites of his fruit salad.

Roused by the chattering of a wayward flock of gulls, Jack finds the two men still engrossed in their conversation. He casts a glance toward the two men standing sentinel along the starboard gunwale of the sun deck, lingering on Arne. The lanky, skittish colt of a man shifts uncomfortably in the hot sun, stuffing his hands in his loose pants pockets while sucking at his teeth. His focus flicking back and forth from Le Chiffre to Nigel, feigning interest in the confusion of languages spilling between them before coming to rest on Jack’s face.

Picking out another slice of watermelon, Jack meets Arne’s dark eyes as he takes a sloppy bite. A spritz of clear, cool juice dribbles down his chin. It drips onto the smooth expanse of his chest. He glances down as if surprised by the outcome, listlessly dragging his fingers through the sticky mess before carefully considering whether or not to wipe them off on his towel or suck them clean. A pink tongue flicks out, sampling the nectar before sliding each digit past his softly bowed, ruddy lips.

Clearly agitated, eyes burning right through him, Arne makes several half starts to cross the deck and rip the wicked fingers out of Jack’s mouth to clean them himself. Stood beside him, Tonny’s face splits with a smirk at the spectacle until he realizes he will have to be the one to actually restrain his impetuous colleague. A tattooed hand hooks into the back of Arne's belt, yanking him back against the railing with a look of bafflement and a torrent of hushed words. The unusual change in their dynamic sparks a flash of amusement in Jack.

A gentle squeeze to the arch of his foot draws Jack’s attention back to the table. He looks to Le Chiffre, brows raised.  

“Nigel and I were discussing his quarterly bonus,” Le Chiffre explains, idly massaging his ankle and calf muscle. The beginnings of a smile pull at the corners of his pouty lips. “Apparently he rather enjoyed his last one.” A hand disappears beneath the folds of terrycloth, grazing the sensitive underside of Jack's knee. Heat pools low in his abdomen at the fluttering caress and anticipation stirred by Le Chiffre’s abstruse language. All a part of the elaborate game. “Would you be so kind?” He withdraws his hand, reclining in his chair to pull out a small, innocuous envelope from his breast pocket.

Leaning forward for a kiss, Jack accepts the simple present. With a slight, knowing grin, he passes Nigel the unspeakably gauche gift—per Jack’s own demands that morning as he withheld an absolutely mouthwatering plate of his Mediterranean inspired eggs benedict.

Nigel perches on the edge of his seat, bent knees splayed wide, and flips open the envelope. A deep laugh, throaty and rough, rumbles in his chest. Not the usual derisive, staccato huff but a true, hearty laugh. Tucked neatly inside the manila folds, he finds a single, latex-free, magnum condom.

“My dear, Le Chiffre,” Nigel purrs, all loose limbed and filthy smirks as he bows his head, hand over his sternum in a nearly theatrical display of gratitude, “you are as generous as you are magnanimous.”

“I trust you find these terms agreeable?” A hint of carefully cultivated detachment creeps into Le Chiffre’s voice as he refills his glass of wine with an exacting twist of a wrist. A routine move he has performed hundreds of times throughout his life, and yet Jack spots a wayward drop of alcohol running down the long neck of the bottle.

In an elegant sweep, the young man rises to his feet, allowing the towel to drop carelessly to the deck in a damp heap. All slithering grace, he slots into the space between Nigel’s legs, staring down at the man with the same blithe smile he bandied about earlier. Jack trails a hand along his waist, fingertips crossing his body, up over ribs and pectorals before ghosting back down over the wispy hairs leading toward his half-hard cock.

“Most agreeable.”

Broad, warm palms trace the sloping lines of his torso, dragging rough fingers in their wake, catching on soft, sensitive skin to draw out a pleasant shiver from the boy. They follow along the flare of his hips, wandering over the high arching pelvic bone and straight down to squeeze the meat of his plush ass. He discovers the looped handle of the anal plug cushioned between the thick muscles.

The steel bumps his prostate, sending a warm rolling wave of pleasure through his entire nervous system. Jack’s dick jumps, growing thicker. He licks his lips, putting on a bewitching little grin.

With a nudge to one hip, Nigel silently signals for him to turn around.

His features a stony mask of impassivity, Le Chiffre holds Jack’s gaze, mismatched eyes drinking in every quiver and flinch as he submits to Nigel's manhandling. With a deliberate poise, he crosses his legs, folding one over the other to shield his arousal. Back perfectly straight, angling forward to prop his elbow up on the edge of the table, two fingers come to rest at Le Chiffre’s temple. The others hang in a loose curl while the curve of his thumb slots into the corner of his mouth.

With a minute nod from him, Jack reaches back to spread himself for appraisal. The full glory of the luxurious toy, seated fully inside him, finally exposed. The stainless steel gleams in the afternoon sun, a brilliant contrast to the soft, rosy flesh surrounding it. 

“I suppose you’d do anything he asks, hmm?” he hums in approval, placing his hands over Jack’s to open him further, thumbs skating over the tender, hot flesh clenched around the handle. Jack obeys, tipping forward to open himself wider. Threading a finger through the ring, Nigel gives it a tug, slow and steady. With a hand braced against Jack’s lower back, he drags out the process, savoring the way he stretches and clenches around the broadest part of the weighty toy. “This is how you demonstrate your devotion, your loyalty,” he pauses, easing it back in, just a few millimeters, “your love.” He watches the greedy hole eagerly devour the thickness. With a filthy, slurping pop he jerks the plug free.

It clanks heavily against the tabletop, drowning out Jack’s soft mewl.

Admiring the pink furl oozing a bit of lube and come, Nigel drops his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, “But, if you ask me, lovely boy like yourself surely has always had a touch of the exhibitionist in you.” Nigel runs the pad of a thumb over the damp, twitching hole, delivering a few soothing strokes as he reacquaints himself with the wonderfully responsive body. The accusation, coupled with the oddly reverent touch, has Jack’s grip spasming, eight crescents digging into the delicate skin of his ass. “How fucking serendipitous.” A wanton grin creases his face as he casts an incisive glance over to Le Chiffre.

Hooking a thumb into his hole, Nigel twists it around to assess Jack’s wetness, a few knuckles rubbing along the downy skin of his perineum. With a disapproving click of his tongue, he pauses, scanning the table for something to help ease the way. Another rumbling laugh spills from his lips as he plucks up the conspicuously full bottle of olive oil Le Chiffre requested be brought out with their Lavraki. 

“The cheek,” he chides his colleague gregariously. Le Chiffre answers with an utterly shameless smirk, all crooked teeth.

With a tip of the glass bottle, Nigel pours a splash of oil down the small of Jack’s back. A thin rivulet runs between the swell of his cheeks, over his fluttering entrance. It trails down the inside of his thigh, a few drops slicking the deck between Nigel’s feet. He tries to wipe away the excess, massaging it into the skin at Jack’s lower back rather than his thighs or ass.

“Stop worrying about your suit,” Jack teases as Nigel continues to fuss with the oil.

A flickering snarl flashes over Nigel’s features at the comment. He roughly shoves all three oiled fingers inside the insolent boy. Instinct taking over, Jack lets out a brief, sharp whine as he rises up on the balls of his feet to escape the unexpected, brutal penetration. Nigel steadies him with a hand to his belly, low enough to just barely graze the patch of coarse, dark curls. Across the table, Le Chiffre release a long, shuddering breath, running his thumb along the seam of his mouth. Watching him intently, Jack begins chewing at his own lips. Switching up his pace, Nigel lazily scissoring his slick fingers, coating him inside out until he starts to settle back onto the delicious burn. As quickly as they entered, he removes his fingers.

The crisp sound of a wrapper tearing, tossed carelessly on the deck, signals Jack to take over.

With a hand smacking into Nigel’s sternum, Jack pushes him back into his chair. Expressionless, he climbs into his lap, gripping the thick, hard cock jutting proudly from the folds of expensive slacks. As he eases himself down, taking his time to adjust to the wide stretch, he feels the tension in Nigel’s body mounting inexorably. A tightly wound, animalistic urge to rut coiled in every taut muscle, a ravenous hunger burning beneath the surface of his electric stare.

If it were just them, alone, Jack knows he’d be face first against the cool glass tabletop, back bowed well beyond the point of discomfort while Nigel yanks at his mop of curls, fucking into him with bruising force. He’d be wearing tender yellowing welts and ruddy hand prints on his hips, thighs and ass for over a week.

 “Easy there, big boy,” Jack croons, putting on his most grating American accent, laying it on thick just to try and provoke the savage hiding beneath the surface. A wicked thrill sending the hairs on the back of his neck rising to attention. He bottoms out, sitting pretty on Nigel’s fat cock as he waits for the man to take the bait. Naturally, he does. Covering the width of Jack’s waist with both hands, he squeezes until the boy lets out a faint squeak.

Though, of course Nigel knows better than to actually rough him up, unlike the disposable rent boys he beds back in Romania. Instead, with a look to Le Chiffre, he quickly tamps down his base nature in favor of playing nice, graciously accepting the man’s most lavish gift with aplomb; the offer may never be made again. After all, it will only make the payoff that much more rewarding.

“Anything you say, gorgeous,” he obliges, the dramatic shift to smooth and serene overtaking his entire being, sprawling back in the chair to allow Jack full control. His hands fall to rest at the juncture of hips and thigh, feeling the muscle swell and contract with each move Jack makes. Idly petting the delicate hairs covering Jack sturdy legs framing his own.

With slow, languid rolls of his hips, Jack decides to put on an elaborate show for Le Chiffre and the two henchmen. Bracing both hands on the broad expanse of Nigel’s shoulders, fixing his face with an almost bored expression that will only incite the man more, he sets a fine, middling pace. It is neither indulgent, like the mid-morning romp with Le Chiffre, nor the fervent fuck he knows Nigel craves. A tantalizing show of undulating muscles and restrain while he plays at being the vaguely reluctant, bossy fuck toy.

A rough hand palms the smooth, thick, flat muscle of his breast; pinching a soft, rosy nipple between thumb and forefinger. Nigel twists it lightly, tweaking and fumbling with the tip until it pebbles with lovely sensitivity. He drags his knuckles over the hardened nub, slow and teasing before catching it with the blunt nail of his thumb.

Composure faltering, Jack lets out his first faint whimper of pleasure as he continues leisurely riding Nigel’s cock. A plump bead of precome smears against the cool material of rumpled shirttails.

Nigel repeats the same series of ministrations on the other breast with painstaking precision. The heat starts to bloom in Jack’s cheeks, blossoming across the bridge of his nose and warming his throat and chest.

Cupping the two slight mounds of his pectorals, Nigel pushes them together to create the illusion of girlish cleavage. “Must say, my darling boy,” he cocks his head to the side, assessing the vision before him, “Valenka did have much nicer tits.” His face breaks out into a lascivious smirk, giving his chest a playful squeeze.

Behind him, Jack hears the faint sound of rustling fabric and Le Chiffre scoffing. The endearing image of the other uncrossing his legs and pursing his lips with distain immediately comes to mind. Though he tolerates them as part of their agreement, Jack knows Le Chiffre finds the comment and comparison unspeakably vulgar to all parties included.

Nigel knows as well.

Jack opens his mouth, a half-baked retort dancing on the tip of his tongue, when two fingers push past his lips. Calluses and olive oil grate along the flat of his tongue, halting his words and short-circuiting his brain. The overwhelming fullness, filling him top to bottom, overrides all thought of rejoinders.

Instinct takes over, both hands wrapping around the solid wrist, eyes falling shut as he pours everything into the act of sucking rhythmically while clenching around Nigel’s cock buried to the hilt inside him. Swiping his tongue between the two fingers, flicking into the webbing to taste the earthy mingling of salt and olives. A pathetic gasp of disappointment follows the loss of the digits when Nigel pulls them away.

Fingers dripping with saliva, Nigel returns his attention to the the boy’s peaked nipples. He rubs them sore, pinching, plucking and tugging each without mercy until Jack becomes a whimpering mess pawing open Nigel’s shirt. He picks up his pace, bouncing more eagerly in Nigel’s lap as his arousal begins to spiral out of control. With a modicum of composure, he winds lithe arms around broad shoulders as he cants forward to grate the tips of his oversensitive nipples against his wiry chest hair. Hot puffs of muggy breath bead sweat along the tattoo covering his neck.

Nigel hisses something in Romanian that has Le Chiffre chuckling. It’s a dark, warm sound that sends the blood pumping in Jack’s veins. An over exaggerated, needy little mewl escapes him, sounding every time the shining, fat cockhead threatens to pop out, opening him up as far as he can go without further prep.

“Though your cunt,” he swallows, pausing to hear the frantic hitch in Jack’s breathing at the crass consonants, “your cunt is absolutely exceptional.” His hands slither around to grip Jack’s ass, shoving his cheeks together for a tighter fuck before wrenching them apart to show their keen audience just how red and stretched the boy sits around his impressive length. Fingertips massage the flushed rim, sliding through oil and sweat. “Sublime, even.”

Something about the way his foreign tongue wraps around the rude English words has Jack tilting his hips, feverishly pushing back into Nigel’s groping hands. A deep arch appears in his lower spine. The movement exposes every inch of the man’s girth, the wide crown catching on his rim before he sits back down on it, swallowing up the flared head all the way to the base in an agonizingly seductive display.

The cool sea breeze kissing his bared and dilated hole, chilling the smears of slick olive oil, sends a shock of heat lancing through his belly. A symphony of lewd sounds, the glide of slippery skin and his own hiccupping moans, punctuated by a spate of low pitched grunts or growls of praise from Nigel, only compound his thrumming arousal.

“Wouldn’t you agree, boys?” Nigel peers over at his lackeys with a textbook smugness etched in every crease of his face.

Following Nigel’s line of sight, Jack glancing over his shoulder at the strange tableau of his prodigious group of spectators. Along the gunwale, Arne, ramrod straight, fists crammed into his pockets, twists his lips into a firm frown. He barely blinks. Bright eyed, Tonny slouches against the short siding, absentmindedly digging the heel of his hand into the tented crotch of his track suit bottoms. Le Chiffre gazes at him, white-knuckling his platinum plated inhaler.

With each man spellbound, gripping Nigel’s neck for leverage, Jack arches his back, curious fingertips skating over the hot ring of his asshole, the pulsing shaft and lower still to graze a pair of tight balls. For the first time, Nigel bucks up into him with a ragged groan. Perfection embodied in a single action. Jack gasps. Everything, the drawn out teasing, the bump to his prostate, all the eyes watching him, push Jack right over the edge from performance into absolute unquenchable lust. The artifice of sweetly responsive yet domineering fuck toy drops. Slack and submissive, baring the long flush column of his throat, he tips his head back in utter surrender.

“Fuck me,” Jack concedes in a desperate whine, impatient to finally receive the full brunt of Nigel’s pent-up mania. “Fuck me, Nigel,” he repeats, a shade more demanding as he tugs at the collar of the man’s open shirt.

With a single tap to his ass, Nigel orders him to get off.

Olive oil drips down Jack’s thighs as he staggers back, unsteady on his trebling legs. Nigel, silver strands falling into his eyes, pursues him with a predatory bluntness. Looming large, he crowds the slight man back against the edge of the dining table. Dishes and silverware clatter against the deck as he effortlessly lifts the boy up onto the piece of furniture, laying him out flat. With a brusque shove, he parts Jack’s thighs to haphazardly drizzle on another splash of oil before finally burying himself right back into the tight, greasy heat with a grunt. Fingers anchoring into the crease of hip and thigh, he sets a punishing rhythm that has Jack instantly spreading his legs and arching his back. A few words of nonsense pour from his mouth before the syllables devolve into nothing more than nonstop whimpering.

His long ignored cock begins steadily leaking over the flat planes of his stomach as it jostles around with each thrust.

With an otherworldly serenity, Le Chiffre reaches out to tenderly strokes his hair while Nigel pounds into him. Gentle touches mapping his pleasure, outlining the hot blush illuminating his cheeks, fondling the curves of his sticky lips, traveling the topography of his hairline. Mouth open, gulping down air, staring up at Le Chiffre with his brows drawn, Jack never breaks eye contact. He frantically grips the edge of the table for some kind of purchase. Skin slapping, hollow hips colliding with his plush ass, sets the remaining dishes rattling, knocking the air from his lungs; the torrent of breathy moans sweet accompaniment.

With nothing short of a snarl, Nigel bucks into him, once, twice, head bowed, cascading fringe obscuring his face, and comes.

Unceremoniously, he drops the dead weight of Jack’s legs, stepping back with unbelievable composure to strip off the condom and tuck himself away. Raking a hand through his disheveled hair, he tosses the used condom onto Jack’s quivering stomach, ropey come spilling out to fill the dips and crevasses of his belly and hips. Grease stains litter the front of his trousers, seeping into the inseam in a mosaic of obscenity.

 “Please,” Nigel pants, chest heaving as he gestures graciously toward Le Chiffre’s obvious erection, the white linen only accentuating the woefully neglected erection confined within. The keen edge to his voice revealing the none-to-secret desire to watch the performance his manhandling of Jack provokes from his business partner.

Le Chiffre hesitates.

Surprised, Jack rises up to his elbows, craning his neck around to get a look at his taciturn paramour. While the older man may be a bit of a voyeur, he has never once expressed a desire to indulge in any form of outright exhibitionism. Clearly not that Jack would mind if he wished to explore that particular facet of his sexuality. A gleam of passing consideration glazes over Le Chiffre’s good eye.

Still painfully hard, Jack feels his dick twitch as he imagines the scene playing out; all of them watching him cheeks bulging as he slurps and drools, moaning, choking himself on the exquisite, pulsing cock. A strong hand would cradle his scalp, the other fumbling with his damn inhaler while he fucks Jack’s throat raw. It would be difficult to speak for a quarter of an hour, at the very least, while Le Chiffre wheezed along catching his breath.

Drawing out a crisp white handkerchief, Le Chiffre fastidiously plucks up the center of the cloth, folding it into a neat point before dabbing at the swell of blood beading at the inner corner of his left eye. With a blank expression, he examines the right red stain. Doubling the cloth over again into a tidy square, he dabs at the light sheen of sweat covering his upper lip and forehead.

Jack quirks an eyebrow at the familiar tell, tucking the knowledge away in the back of his mind as something to explore later in a safer environment, perhaps amongst strangers rather than business associates.

Le Chiffre stuffs the handkerchief back into his breast pocket before looking back up to regard his guest with mild amusement.

“No, no,” he dismisses the suggestion with an airy wave of his hand. Turning his full attention back to Jack, he brushes away the damp curls clinging to his forehead, trailing a hand down to frame his smooth jaw, thumb sweeping over a rosy cheek. Leaning into the caress, Jack turns to press his mouth to Le Chiffre’s palm, licking at the salty sweat. He tilts forward to presses their foreheads together, an implicit off to end the game as he searches Jack’s eyes for an answer. “Why don’t you go freshen up.”

The naked devotion, the promise aftercare in his gaze, one clear pupil blown wide, the persistent, tiny smear of blood still clinging to his lower eyelid, do nothing to quell Jack’s fraying arousal. With an impish smile, he nods to continue, catching Le Chiffre’s lips on the upswing. They share an outrageously intimate kiss, a pink tongue licking at pouty lips, teeth scraping soft flesh, fingers scrabbling through the short hairs at the nape of Le Chiffre’s neck. Reluctantly, he pulls away to allow Jack to slide off the table.

Cock bobbing with each step, Nigel’s come drying on his stomach, dripping down his thighs, Jack strolls across the deck. Rather than retreating to the main cabin and a hot shower, a strange whimsy strikes him. Casually stroking himself, his route veers closer to Arne, holding his gaze as he squeezes the base of his hard-on. Transfixed, the man stares as Jack begins to climb up on the gunwale before quickly moving to give him a steady hand. A deck chair shudders behind him as Le Chiffre rises to his feet. Palms touching, Jack steps over the safety rail and dives in with a small splash.

From the water, he watches Le Chiffre and Nigel come to stand alongside Arne and Tonny. He flashes a dazzling smile at the men before dunking his head back under water. With a full bodied laugh from Nigel, he steers a visibly baffled Le Chiffre inside the main cabin, most likely heading to the study below decks, where the latter keeps his prized ivory chess set and poker chips. Usually, after successful meetings, they spend hours holed up in the room, drinking and playing. While Le Chiffre does not make a habit of befriending his business contacts it has been Jack’s experience that the man appears to be rather fond of fostering peculiar relationship with eccentric individuals, many of which defy societal conventions.

The other two men follow them downstairs, stepping out onto lower deck designated for smoking. Arne pulls out a crumpled soft pack of cigarettes and offers one to to his partner. With a familiar lopsided smirk, Tonny mutters something as he fumbles with the flimsy package. After sucking in his first lungful, he tossing Arne a shitty Bic lighter. Arne spins the metal wheel a few times before it ignites, long finger gripping the lighter with a striking elegance.

Rather than torturing himself with an endless stream of erotic thoughts featuring Arne’s talented hands, Jack rolls onto his back. He swipes a hand over his abdomen, washing away the remnants of come and sweat. Staring up at the picturesque cloudless blue skies of the Aegean, he simply floats. Soaking in the quiet sounds of the sea and the warm rays of sun, his erection gradually subsides.

A harsh bark of laughter wrenches him out of the peaceful reverie, glancing back to the boat to see the two men joking around. Arne has moved on to rolling his own cigarettes, apparently showing Tonny the best technique for the tightest roll. Jack finds it difficult to keep the lurid thoughts at bay for long as a sudden surge of lust rises up within him.

He figures he has waited long enough for Le Chiffre and Nigel to be deep into a fiercely contested game of chess.

Scaling the ladder with the same slinking grace he possessed two hours prior, Jack wanders past the pair, heading straight back to the interior of the yacht. Arne turns sharply, halting for a fleeting moment of deliberation and follows, two careful steps behind the path of wet footprints.

Tonny snickers, making a rude gesture when Arne glares back, mouth wide, tongue lulling out in a rather vivid pantomime of a wet and messy blowjob. Arne bristles, impulse taking over with a quick, rigid step toward him. Tonny flinches, immediately dropping the act. Jack grabs Arne’s hand, pulling him back into their private sphere with a whisper of his name. He yields, though continues scowling over his shoulder as Jack drags him inside.

Together, they walk down a narrow corridor, past the door to Le Chiffre’s study, the pleasant sounds of chattering and drinking emanating from the room. Interlacing their fingers, Jack leads him in to one of the well-appointed guest cabins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, should Arne to be rough or has Jack earned a little pampering? Let me know what you think!


End file.
